


Not Exactly Vegan

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anorexia, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, when your entire society is divided by what it eats, pulling a hunger strike makes you a massive fuck-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Vegan

“You are officially the worst Winna-Crel in the city.” 

Pete rolls his eyes at Patrick. That’s hardly a new fact. It’s like declaring winter is cold, or argyle is lame. True, but unnecessary to talk about.

“The state, maybe,” Joe adds helpfully. 

“The elders are going to summon you soon.”

Pete looks at Andy first, then Joe and Patrick. He knows they’re worried about him. He knows they think he’s being rash, he’s not considering how this could go down. “I know. There’s nothing else they can do, only yell.”

They don’t buy it, but they don’t continue the conversation. It’s okay. Pete doesn’t really buy it either.

*

The sooner or later of seeing the elders comes sooner rather than later. He wouldn’t put it past Patrick to have informed them. He won’t accuse him of it, Patrick will just get mad and deny it no matter what the truth is. He can’t even feel angry about it. It must be hard to see your almost boyfriend, more than just boyfriend committing to a course of action so life threatening. 

Pete goes when they summon him. Mostly because you don’t disobey when an elder wants you and a little because he’s hoping they have a cure for him. Not that anyone else sees the issue inherent with the People’s eating habits. They won’t see it as something to cure. You don’t cure nature. 

Without even stepping into the room his hope is dwindling. The collection of wizened men and women staring at him when he walks in don’t boost his confidence that he’ll be taken seriously. The more they talk -or, rather the more they attempt to orate and the more he interrupts- the more the confused looks turn to glares.

“Pete, we’re the eaters. You should not be ashamed of that.”

“I didn’t say I was ashamed of it, I said I’m not doing it. There’s a difference. I am not eating, not with the results it has. Sorry.”

Eventually he walks out, not even bothering to finish his sentence. They can say what they want, he can say what he wants. It’s not like they’re going to listen to each other at all.

*

“Pete, you’re going to die if you don’t start eating. You _need_ to.”

Pete can understand Patrick being upset enough to bring it up, yet again. But like every time one of his friends tells him to go hunt down a meal, he wonders if they really know what they’re asking.

“You know what? Let’s talk details for a moment, I don’t care if it’s taboo.” A chorus of snorts proves they’re not surprised he doesn’t care about breaking taboo. And because they’re them, they’ll listen, even if it makes them blush. “Factor one; what we eat. Andy nibbles up skin flakes when they discard into the air. Joe teases strands out of a hair brush, or plucks them from a shirt. Patrick waits for someone to sneeze. But because I’m Winna-Crel, I have to wait until someone hurts themselves before I can help myself to their blood. Factor two; what happens. Patrick carries a spitting jar, Joe grows a thatch on his thigh, Andy makes cool keloids. And I sweat blood. Who’s most inconvenienced? Factor three; have you ever actually tasted blood?”

“Of course we haven’t. We’re not Winna.”

Fuck him for being so matter of fact. “Well, it tastes bad.”

“It’s supposed to be ambrosia.”

“Dude, do you really like the taste of spit? Or you do eat it to keep yourself alive?”

Andy shakes his head, as much as he can. It’s not much, his neck is pretty built up right now. “It doesn’t matter. Even if it didn’t taste good, it’s the only thing we can eat.” 

“Which is my point exactly. I’m not eating blood, I’m accepting the other option. The option of nothing.”

Which is slow death, no one says.

*

“Have you tried eating other things?” 

“Right, because I’m so stupid it’s never occurred to me to try a piece of fruit or a cracker.” It’s not like he’s jumping for joy that he’s going to starve. He’d take another option, if there was one.

“That’s not what I meant Pete. Don’t be an asshole. I meant we’re all Crel. Yes, you’re a Winna, but maybe you can have a modified meal. Maybe it’s compatible enough, as long as it’s from a human.” 

Pete doubts it, but he can’t not try.

*

Joe is insistent, so Pete follows him to a house. He’s got the same methods of getting inside that Pete was taught. They go up a flight of stairs to a bedroom. The girl sitting on a polkadot comforter has long brunet hair. 

Pete has never observed a Lanna-Crel -or a Diqq or a Autt for that matter- eat. You don’t talk about it, you don’t ask to see it, you ignore the additions to their bodies that mean a recent feed. But Pete’s never been good at keeping his thoughts within the proper lines. Sometimes it feels like he can only think about the things he shouldn’t. He’s always thought Joe plucked the hair. He doesn’t. Instead his lips change shape; narrow while getting longer until they’re almost like a straw. With an audible sucking noise Joe pulls a hair off her shirt. His eyebrows expand as the hair enters him. 

“You try.”

Pete’s lips don’t do that. He has to pluck. It doesn’t taste like anything.

*

He goes with Andy second. Andy is the one Pete has the most hope for. Skin is one of the things that holds blood, tissue alongside muscle and veins and organs. Maybe it holds it well enough that even individual flakes have a high enough percentage that he can survive on it. 

Unlike Joe, who’s mouth contracted, Andy’s expands. His lips stretch until they’re more like butterfly nets than anything else. “Just open your mouth and catch air with your tongue. Skin is everywhere in the air. They can’t help it. Most of them don’t even know.”

He can see it working on Andy. As he consumes the flakes go straight into a series of polka dots across his forehead. They’ll stay a week until his body reabsorbs them and that will let him know he needs more. Unless Andy really likes them. If he prematurely gorges there’s no need for his body to absorb the growths. But there’s nothing in the air for Pete. It’s just air.

*

By Patrick, Pete knows this won’t work. He’s doomed to die of starvation. Still, he follows Patrick to try out eating like a Autt. He’d rather avoid getting yelled at for giving up for as long as possible. Patrick’s jaw drops down so he has more room to collect. Pete can’t do that. His attempt is messier.

Patrick doesn’t get nearly as wet and slimy as Pete expects him to. Instead he just gets a bit wobbly, like a water balloon. He barely turns translucent. “Would you burst if I hit you?” He has to know, and he can’t just do it in case the answer is yes.

“No, dumbass.” Pete smiles. Better to have Patrick namecalling than freaking out that it didn’t work.

*

Pete should be surprised that Patrick and Joe and Andy have trapped a human. He isn’t, not really. His friends love him.

“So this is gonna be really simple, okay? I’m gonna cut the boy, and then you’re gonna drink. And no one is gonna be shy, and you’re not going to be stupid.”

“No.” Technically he could mean he agrees, he’s not gonna be stupid. They all know that’s not what he means.

“You haven’t eaten in three weeks. Have you seen yourself? You know your skin is pure white, right?”

“Yeah.” He’s not blind.

“Then fucking eat!” Pete really wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick punched him in the face.

“You can’t force me.” Because when it comes down to it, that’s what this is about. The entire Crel society demands he eat. And he won’t, no matter what the consequences.

“We’re not going to just hang out with you, watching you die.”

“Then go away.”

And they do. And it hurts, more than the hunger his body aches with.


End file.
